A Twist In Time
by Tiger Lantern
Summary: Harry's spontaneous, firewhiskyfueled dive into a Pensieve causes him to discover several kisses that he doesn't remember. Reviews gladly welcomed, critics please be specific so I can improve. Spoilers for DH especially. Completed
1. Chapter 1

I.

Harry plunged drunkenly through the surface of the Pensieve and plummeted into the Room of Requirement.

It was during the Battle of Hogwarts, he realized from the shouting, and the explosions elsewhere in the castle that made the hammocks and hangings tremble. Slowly, through the haze of alcohol, he decided that there had been a mistake- Hedwig had been killed months before. He'd been sure the label on the small green bottle had born her name, in Ron's idiosyncratic scrawling capital letters; though the firewhisky had made them blur more than slightly.

In a moment of reckless, inebriated nostalgia Harry had wanted to see what memory of his lost owl Ron had thought worth bottling. The party could miss him for a while. After all, the party hadn't really noticed when, somewhat uncomfortable around so many people, he'd left the living room to go wandering aimlessly through his house.

Except for Ron of course, who had lifted his head and caught Harry's eye as he slipped out of the door. But Ron almost didn't count because they always had those moments, their eyes meeting every moment they met or parted to assure each other that still nothing was amiss, that no-one they loved or cared about was being held prisoner, crucio'd, stalked, threatened, killed, or about to have to sacrifice themselves for The Greater Good.

It took some getting used to, being The Boy Who Just Kept On Living.

"Are you sure you want to live here?" Mrs. Weasley had asked kindly, when Harry had returned to Grimmauld Place with her, Ron, Hermione, and George.

"Sirius wanted me to have this house," Harry had replied simply. He'd felt the warmth of Ron's gaze on the back of his head for a moment before his friend continued, as though for him, "And it's a wicked place, really. Now Hermione's put that Superior Silencing Charm on Mrs. Black, anyway." Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione exchange a smile, and they all glanced at the portrait. Mrs. Black had continued to resist all attempts at removal, but since realizing that she looked rather ridiculous shouting when she couldn't be heard, had taken to merely glaring at everyone icily.

Harry had moved into Sirius' room, of course. Ron had initially wanted Regulus' room, for no other reason than "Our doors will be facing each other, it'll be well good." He'd backtracked after one night, though, claiming that he "couldn't stop thinking about stuff"; the other two had accepted this without comment. Regulus's room became used for storage, and Ron moved into the room on the floor below that Hermione hadn't wanted.

In the darker corners of his psyche, Harry had wondered if the maneuver hadn't simply been an elaborate ploy to give Ron easy access to Hermione's room without looking as though he'd abandoned his position as Best Mate Extraordinaire. Something in him roiled and burned at that thought, wanted to deny it and the complex, contradictory feelings that rose in its wake.

But in the light he saw them relate to each other only as good friends; sometimes he caught them exchanging glances that seemed to have meaning he couldn't discern, but if those had been glances of love and/or lust, he would have known- and Ron would have told him. Ron had told him everything that happened with Lavender Brown. True, he'd made it sound like he was reporting on an experiment that he was taking part in, one which he wasn't really sure of but was nevertheless attempting to be enthusiastic about; but report on it he had.

Harry had been left privately hoping that his experiences (assuming that he would have some, at an unconfirmed future date) would be very different from Ron's descriptions. He'd been expecting to be interested, even vicariously aroused, by his friend's escapades. Instead he'd been faintly disgusted by most of it.

The parts where Ron talked about how _he'd_ felt- that had been okay. That had been fine, actually. And the first time Ron had whispered, with an awed giggle, in the dark cave made by the curtains of Harry's bed: "I was so turned on!" oh, Harry had felt his cock jump and all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle upright.

_That was years ago, now__, and it still makes me tingle a bit,_ Harry mused distractedly as he tried to get his bearings. The door of the Room suddenly burst open, and Harry jumped backwards out of the way before remembering that he was in one of Ron's memories, and fell over in a heap before remembering that he was also still quite drunk.

_That explains the lack of terror_, Harry thought. He felt quite detached from the experience of watching Ron, Hermione and himself have a conversation with Ginny, Tonks and Mrs. Longbottom, whom he hadn't even noticed at the other end of the Room. Ron and Hermione were clutching armfuls of large, curved, dirty yellow objects, and Ron's broomstick was wedged awkwardly under one elbow.

_I suppose_, he thought as he pushed himself determinedly upright, _having been convinced I was going to die through the whole thing for real, I can't quite manage it again for a memory. What I really want is a bacon sandwich. There goes Mrs. Longbottom, off to help Neville. There goes Tonks, off to- Don't think about that. _

_Why the bloody hell did Ron bottle this memory?_

He watched as Ginny left too, wandering if he'd ever really felt as intensely for her as he'd told himself he did. It was hard to know, so long after. The firewhisky wasn't helping there either. He turned his attention back to Hermione and Ron, who had been saying something about house-elves, just as two armfuls of basilisk fangs and a broomstick clattered to the floor and-

_Merlin's fucking pants, what are they doing?_

Harry fought back heaving nausea at the sight of Hermione probing Ron's tonsils with her tongue.

_I don't remember this happening! _

"Is this the moment?" Harry heard his past self asking weakly. It looked like they were both fighting back heaving nausea, actually. Hermione gripped Ron more tightly and they swayed on the spot. Harry swayed in sympathy as he watched the stunned look on what he could see of his best friend's face, then crumpled to his knees as his past self yelled "OI! There's a war going on here!" in a voice filled with hurt and confusion.

_There bloody well is now, _thought Harry from the floor. _Hermione can't have him. Why didn't I realize that before?_

_Why don't I remember this?_


	2. Chapter 2

II.

"I know, mate," said Ron, who looked as though he'd just taken a Bludger to the head, "so it's now or never, isn't it?" His clear blue eyes suddenly filled with resolution and, maybe, desire; but as both Harrys tried to interpret the look, white mist swirled around them all and the memory dissolved.

_Where am I now?_

A Hogwarts corridor swam into focus around him. He was at another point during the Battle, judging from the noise and smoke drifting up the corridor. Harry managed not to fall over again as a classroom door slammed open and a stampeding herd of desks emerged, driven by a beautifully disheveled and war-hungry Professor McGonagall. He gazed fondly after her as they thundered away.

This moment of pleasant nostalgia was ruined by the sight of Ron and Hermione (thankfully not touching) appearing through the cloud of dust raised by the desks. Harry frowned, emotions charging through him. He loved Hermione like a sister, of course he loved her, but right now he wanted desperately to get between her and Ron, push her away from him, turn and wrap his arms around Ron and-

Harry ran both hands through his hair, making no visible difference.

_I want to do what?_

-kiss him. Kiss him 'til he moans.

_Oh, Merlin, I really do._

Harry stared at Ron as he approached, not really seeing anything else. Just Ron, not as a collection of facts and facets, memories and quirks, trials and triumphs, but as a quietly astonishing whole that had been Harry's all along without him really knowing it. Under his nose for the taking (Harry inadvertently quivered) and he'd never realized.

He realized now, alright- a thousand little moments were busy clicking together in his head and heart to finally bring him the overwhelming message that actually, Ron was what Harry wanted most; but in all the fuss of saving Wizardkind and the ensuing clean-up, the memo had been delayed. He watched Ron saying something to Hermione and wanted to touch Ron's mouth, unconsciously raising his fingers to his own lips.

_But Hermione kissed him first. _

_Fuck._

They were close enough now for him to hear their conversation. Hermione had her Lecturing Voice on.

"I'm just saying, are you absolutely sure you can do it? If it's not identical to how Harry did it, we're wasting time-"

"Look, my mouth is just the same as Harry's, so it can do the same thing, right? It just might take a couple of tries before I can do it exactly like he did, that's all." Ron hefted the broomstick under his arm and frowned.

_What are they talking about?_ Harry thought as they stopped in front of a door. _And given what was in the last memory, do I really want to know?_ He moved closer and followed them with trepidation into Moaning Myrtle's toilets.

Panic flooded him as he saw Ron kneel in front of Hermione, followed immediately by relief as Ron began experimentally hissing at the engraved snake on the tap which opened the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione stood watching, and Harry knew it was the stance she took when barely managing not to tap her toes impatiently. Unfortunately, because he knew this, it was mostly just as irritating.

Ron closed his eyes in concentration (he knows too, thought Harry) and wet his lips softly. Harry suppressed the strong urge to go and stand in front of his kneeling friend. Ron hissed again, and a bright white light bathed his face as the tap glowed and began to spin. Hermione gasped and the sink groaned as it slowly twisted, then sank out of sight to leave the Chamber entrance gaping in front of them.

Harry watched as the two of them leaned into the darkness, then drew sharply back and pulled faces at each other. He was relieved that smells didn't seem to feature in Pensieve memories as Hermione turned faintly green and Ron muttered, "I think it's safe to say it's still down there."

Comprehension dawned on Harry as he remembered they'd been carrying basilisk fangs in the Room of Requirement. So this memory was from _before_ the previous one? Comprehension fled again, to be replaced by the beginnings of a headache. He was almost completely sober now and not enjoying it in the least. Hermione's rapturous expression as she gazed at Ron, however, crushed any thought of pulling his head out of the Pensieve and sticking it in, say, a vat of firewhisky. Or Ron's pants.

"That was amazing, Ron!" she gushed as she waved her wand at his nose, then her own. Ron took a deep breath in relief, nodded his thanks, and peered into the tunnel again.

"No, really, it was, really amazing!" Hermione had gone down on her knees next to Ron and Harry moved reluctantly closer to see her face. She looked as though she was truly seeing Ron for the first time, and something in her expression reminded him of Ginny at certain moments. _I am watching Hermione realize how brilliant Ron is_, Harry thought glumly. _Of course she __**would**__ get it long before I did. She is the brains of the three of us, after all. _

He stood, rooted to the spot with a kind of numbing, dull misery, while Ron seemed to take in what Hermione had said and turned one of his rare smiles on her. Ron grinned often and easily but he had a smile that Harry knew appeared seldom; only when Ron felt a deep, true joy in something would it spread slowly and gloriously across his face. This time it was gone quickly (and Harry found himself, momentarily, spitefully glad) as Ron determinedly said, "Best get it done, then. _Lumos_," and the two of them slid down the pipe.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed one hand over his face, sighing deeply. He was just about to indulge in a good bout of self-pity and internal ranting when he heard the bathroom door behind him open slowly a little, pause, and then close softly again as someone else slipped into the room. _Merlin's sweaty pants_, thought Harry as he replaced his glasses, _I can't even get privacy when I'm invisible in someone else's memory. _

Suddenly the person darted past him and crouched to look into the Chamber entrance.

Harry gasped, as all thoughts of moping were driven from him by pure astonishment.

It was Ron.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Harry stood openmouthed in shock- _it can't be, it has to be one of his brothers!_ He forced himself to stumble over and bent to see the other's face, but as he did so the other straightened and launched himself feet first down the pipe. The movement made Harry jump reflexively. Before he knew it, he too was sliding down into the blackness, to finally land in a heap. _The Boy Who Lived To Fall Over, _he thought ruefully.

"_Lumos_!" whispered a familiar voice, and Harry turned to see Ron- and it _was_ Ron, no doubt about it- looking around in the faint glow from his wand.

_What the merry hell__? Polyjuice Potion? A Metamorphmagus Death Eater we didn't know about?_ Harry scrambled to his feet and followed the new Ron, not wanting to be left in darkness as the facsimile of his friend proceeded cautiously past the rubble left from their last visit.

Ron speeded up as they got further into the tunnel, Harry following him closely along the twists and bends, still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. _It looks like Ron, and it kind of moves like Ron, though I guess everybody sneaks down a dark corridor in the same sort of way. I need him bang into something and swear, then I'll __**know**__ it's Ron. Now what's he doing?_

Ron had come to a halt and whispered "_Nox_", just before what Harry guessed was the final bend in the tunnel. He crouched down and peered cautiously around the curved wall towards the glow of Hermione's and Ron's wands, and Harry peered cautiously with him before remembering that he couldn't be seen anyway.

He stepped forward and the sight of the huge serpents with their jeweled eyes flickering sent a chill down his spine. Now memory reached out and stroked him with a cold fingertip; the recent heat of battle had not touched him the way this dark stone chamber did, across far more years. This was an area of Hogwarts he had only one memory of, and it was not heartwarming.

_We were what, twelve? Ron and me, voices not even broken yet, him with a __useless wand- up against Voldemort and a twenty foot snake with poisonous fangs that kills with a glance. What were we thinking? If the wall hadn't come down, he would have been right there with me fighting them. _Harry shivered involuntarily.

The Ron in front of the doors hissed, and Hermione watched with breathy anticipation. Harry gritted his teeth, using the flash of annoyance to distract himself from the thought that he could have lost Ron before they'd even had hair on their balls.

On Ron's fourth attempt the snakes parted. Hermione reacted with a high-pitched giggle and a flick of her hair, dislodging some small chunks of battle debris from it. She placed one hand on Ron's arm with a deliberate movement, turning him to face her, and breathed in deeply.

Harry tensed. He couldn't help it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Ron concealed in the tunnel tense too; then as Hermione gazed intently into the other's eyes and parted her lips, he bolted out of hiding and dashed half-crouched behind his double, into the darkness of the Chamber.

Hermione jumped and squealed, "I saw something! S-Something moved!"

"Where?" yelped Ron, jerking around and out of Hermione's grasp. Harry silently cheered.

"I think- I think inside," Hermione answered, edging towards the door. Ron stepped forward, looking determined.

"You stay here while I have a look," he said. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Ron, you know I'm much more-" She suddenly seemed to change her mind halfway through speaking, and finished "-afraid of the dark than you are. So that would be really great. Of you." She giggled again, and looked at Ron coyly.

_Merlin on a moped, __I think Hermione's trying to flirt. _Harry had seen some strange and painful things in his time but this was possibly a new level of unnatural even for him.

"Right," said Ron, glancing at Hermione uncertainly. Harry recognized Ron's 'Girls Confuse Me' face and cheered to himself again. "I'm going in there, then."

Harry followed Ron into the stagnant blackness of the Chamber itself. Ron was moving cautiously, looking around for signs of movement. He was partly concealing his wand light beneath his cloak, only a narrow beam escaping to palely illuminate the vast, decomposing remains of the basilisk.

_Now, that is __**revolting,**_ thought Harry. Ron gagged quietly and traced the light low along the decayed body, looking for the end with the Horcrux-destroying teeth. As his beam found the monstrous skull he started to creep towards it, still looking around. So intent was he on detecting danger elsewhere in the room, Ron failed to notice until the last moment what Harry had already observed: the other Ron was waiting a little way behind the head.

"Ragmar Dorkins!" that Ron suddenly whispered, as the Ron holding the lit wand opened his mouth to yelp.

"Wha-?" came out instead, in a kind of strangled gulp.

"I'm you, but you're not going to believe that, 'cos you're me, so I thought, if _I_-" the one Harry had decided to think of as Other Ron, the second to descend into the Chamber, pointed to himself, "knew I had decided to do this when I was _you_-" he pointed at the first Ron- "which I didn't, but if I _had_, I, that is, _you_-" his finger was waving back and forth between them now at high speed, "-would have thought of a password to prove to _you_ that _I_ was _me_, and that password would have been-"

"Ragmar Dorkins," finished Ron, looking flabbergasted. "You- _I_- actually used the Time Turner." Other Ron had run out of breath and seemed to be slightly unsure that he'd finished off pointing at the right one of himself, but he nodded and took a step around the foul head, closer to Ron.

Ron went from flabbergasted to on guard with a speed that impressed Harry. "You could just be some bloody genius Death Eater on Polyjuice," he almost growled at Other Ron, who raised his eyebrows, made a noise of disbelief, and took another step.

"Some of 'em were quite bright," Ron said defensively. "Everybody knows I love the Cannons. Besides," he frowned, and Harry saw him raise his wand, "you could be using Legilimency." Other Ron looked exasperated.

"Yeah, because we both know how fantastic I am at that, definitely good enough to do it painlessly and without you bloody noticing, you berk."

Harry heard giggling, and realized it was himself. _Ron makes me giggle._ The thought made him feel warm. _Both Rons._ That thought made him feel hot all over, and he filed it away for future consideration. Along with the revelations that Ron had access to a Time Turner, and that sometimes he really was the only person who could understand his own explanations.

"No, but if you're not me, you'd be good at it!" the first Ron was arguing; but his wand dropped again a little.

"You'd still bloody well notice! Besides, loads of people are crap at Legilimency. _Harry_ can't do it that well," said Other Ron, as though that was the defining factor in any assessment of magic.

"Ron! Rooo-ooonnn? Is everything alright?" Hermione's quiet call from the doorway reached them across the Chamber. Harry watched with baited breath as identical pairs of blue eyes locked on to each other. Ron tightened his grip on his wand.

Other Ron raised one hand in a 'wait!' gesture. "Give me a chance and I'll prove it to you," he whispered urgently.

Ron hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. Other Ron called, "I'm okay, Hermione! Stay where you are, I'll be back in a minute."

"I'll come and help," she called back, and Harry giggled again as both Rons suddenly looked panic-stricken and slightly guilty.

"No, no, you stay there, it's really disgusting in here!" Other Ron yelled, trying to sound simultaneously calming and cheerful.

"Honestly Ron, I can-"

"There's tons of putrid intestines and huge lumps of rotting flesh crawling with maggots and things!"

Harry and Other Ron both looked at Ron, who shrugged and grinned.

"I'll- I'll just guard the entrance, then," Hermione called rather more faintly.

Harry drank in the sight of them looking at each other. _If Mrs. Weasley had had two sets of twins... Merlin's beard, what would school have been like if I'd had two of Ron? _He felt his cheeks flush warm again.

"Prove it quickly, then," said Ron with a determined look. "This is doing my head in a bit now. And there's a war going on upstairs that I should be fighting."

Other Ron looked identically determined, and wiped the back of one hand across his mouth. "Come over here." He walked into the shadows on the other side of the Chamber.

"What? I'm not following you into some dark corner!" protested Ron, nevertheless doing just that. Harry followed too as Other Ron glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Well I'm not doing it standing next to a rotting snake!" He came to a halt and turned suddenly, so that Ron almost bumped into him. Other Ron bit his lip and put one hand on his double's shoulder.

"Probably, nothing _I_ can say will convince _you_, because-"

"Don't start that again," began Ron, then tailed off as he (and Harry, now watching closely from behind him) tried to read the expression on Other Ron's face.

"I have to stop us making a huge mistake," he said with a mixture of pleading and defiance; and before Harry had time to think about what that could mean, Other Ron pulled Ron closely to him and kissed him passionately.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I plead guilty to premature posting! Got a bit carried away by the lovely reviews. Of course in the morning I realized the chapter really wasn't good enough, and I'd broken my rule of not posting any chapter under 1000 words. I now present the new improved Chapter Four, and crave your indulgence that you'll read it.

I suppose I should warn for smut and slash as well, and my new favorite term: Roncest. Consider yourselves warned.

IV.

The kiss went on and on.

At first, Ron had made a muffled noise of protest and raised his arms, as though to push Other Ron away. However as the seconds ticked by, and Harry felt all the blood in his body attempting to rush into his cock at once, Ron began to make soft moans of pleasure into the kiss and his arms encircled his double rather than fending him off.

Other Ron gave an identical moan and pulled them more tightly together, one of his thighs pressing against both Ron's until he opened them and then they were locked together, rocking slightly, mirror images of bliss. Other Ron shifted his hands to Ron's chest and Harry thought for a moment that he was trying to break the embrace until Ron stiffened, and tipped his head back with a gasp, the movement revealing Other Ron's fingers pinching and twisting Ron's nipples through his shirt. Other Ron bent his head to kiss as much of Ron's neck as he could reach, his soft hair falling forward, darkly auburn in the dim light.

Harry suddenly realized he was moaning inaudibly himself, and at some point one of his hands had wandered to his own nipples and the other had begun stroking and squeezing his throbbing cock tightly through his jeans. He meant to stop and step away from Ron's back, but somehow the intent was lost and his feet brought him around so he could fully see both of them; and every line and angle of their intensity was beautiful to him.

He had, if he was totally honest with himself, thought about what Ron would look like stroking and touching and gripping himself, naked and arching off tangled sheets as he sighed and came; usually (if he was totally, totally honest) Harry was thinking this as he sighed and came himself.

The Boy Who Lived had deliberately never brought these thoughts out into the day, and they had never bothered him the way other thoughts had. If his teenage years had been less taken up with Defeating Voldemort And Saving Wizardkind (And The Gryffindor Quidditch Team), maybe there would have been more time for scrutiny of his sexual inclinations. As it was thoughts like _Shit, Voldemort's determined to kill me and everyone I love and he's immensely powerful, _and _I'm actually going to have to die to defeat the noseless twat once and for all, what kind of a plan is that? _(not to mention _Snape was in love with my mum?!) _left little room for agonizing over _Imagining Ron naked having a world-class wank: somehow wrong or intensely erotic?_

Watching two identical Rons obviously turning each other on perfectly was undoubtedly the horniest thing Harry had ever seen. _If they don't stop soon I'm going to-_

Other Ron finally tore his mouth away from his double's collarbone and rested their foreheads together. Both were swollen-lipped and panting. The sight was gorgeous, and Harry wanted more than anything to be sandwiched between them.

"So do you believe me now?"

"About what?"

Other Ron grinned. "About us being each other, mate."

The grin was returned. "Yeah. Nobody knows my body like I do, I get it. If we use the Time Turner again, go straight to this bit of the explanation, okay? That Ragmar Dorkins thing was far too confusing."

They laughed quietly, making Harry tingle again. He was still uncomfortably hard, but the kissing seemed to be over and he honestly wasn't sure what his physical body would do if his self in the Pensieve decided to have a quick five knuckle shuffle. Crap, did his physical body have a hard-on right now? What if someone from the party wandered into Regulus's old room and found him among the dusty boxes of their unused, unpacked memorabilia, bent over the Pensieve and aching with desire?

What if Ron found him like that? _Fuck, that would be brilliant. I mean awfully embarrassing. No, I mean awfully, embarrassingly brilliant. I am not, __**not,**__ thinking about Ron fucking me over the Pensive. No I'm not, _Harry told himself sternly, squeezing his cock again.

"Right, help me get some fangs out of this stinking old serpent before Hermione decides to brave the mounds of maggots and intestines," said Other Ron, turning away from them and heading back towards the skull.

"Kill the mood, why don't you?" grumbled Ron as he followed. Harry stood breathing deeply for a couple of minutes, attempting to subdue his erection (Other Ron's last comment was helping) and thinking about what might happen when he finally did leave Pensieve and rejoin the party. Finally he trailed slowly after them, his head spinning with what felt like love and lust and revelation, his hands buried in his messy hair as though to hold the top of his head on.

The basilisk's gums seemed to have been the main thing keeping its teeth in, and as the black flesh had almost entirely rotted away the long curved fangs snapped out of the jaws easily. The pair swiftly gathered a good number, heads close together, talking softly and quickly. Harry had a moment of deja vu- it was like seeing Fred and George plotting, and he felt a pang of longing to see the twins together again.

"...so you need to bring the wall down in that corridor at exactly the right moment, and then get to the place where I used the Time Turner. And try not to be seen, that bit's really important, apparently," Other Ron was concluding with a grin. "Wait a couple of minutes after I leave here, then run for it."

"Right. What about you?" Ron asked, loading Other Ron's arms with basilisk fangs. "What's the huge mistake, anyway? What are you going to do?"

"Roooo-oooonnn! Ron? I'm coming in, you've been ages!" Hermione suddenly called in her Resolved Voice.

"Crap, I almost forgot she was there!" Ron whispered, causing Other Ron to stifle a snort, and Harry to actually cheer out loud this time.

"Don't worry mate, I'm going to fix it," Other Ron promised as he gave Ron a final quick kiss on the mouth and headed towards the doorway, "I'm going to go and tell her we're gay!"


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Harry felt a rush of exhilaration and almost skipped towards the corridor. _This is why Ron used the Time Turner, this is why I don't remember him kissing Hermione! He decided it was a huge mistake, and came back to fix it! _He turned around at the doorway to see that Other Ron had apparently decided to prove his Ron-ness one last time, and dashed back for final words and another kiss. Harry couldn't help grinning at the sight, especially when the basilisk fangs clattered to the floor. A voice behind him made him jump.

"Just be calm, Hermione. You can do this. You've known him for seven years. It's _Ron_, for goodness' sake. It doesn't have to be like it was with Viktor..."

Harry turned to see no-one but Hermione. She was talking to herself as she finished combing her fingers through her hair, which had achieved getting rid of nearly all the bits of Hogwarts that had become tangled in it; and also really brought out the bushiness. Harry wasn't sure if Hermione had been aiming for the latter, but it was certainly striking.

He realized that he'd never properly watched a girl when she thought she was unobserved. He saved the sudden resulting revelation that possibly, maybe, owning the best ever cloak of invisibility for nearly a decade and not once using it to watch girls, just might be a pointer on his sexual orientation issue, to think about later.

Hermione was now muttering under her breath as she fussed with her shirt buttons. He caught the words "...can think circles around Lavender Brown," and "...knew I should have worn the other bra," as she did something mysterious with first one hand, then the other, down the front of the shirt. She craned her head to see Other Ron approaching, and hastily undid another button.

"Sorry," he grinned, looking flushed and breathless and not the slightest bit sorry. "Dropped the teeth."

"_Fangs_. I mean, um, thanks. Thanks, Ron. They're great, really great. Lovely," said Hermione, not looking at Ron's armload, and then tightening her mouth as though inwardly berating herself.

"Yeah, lovely," agreed Ron dubiously, looking down at the cracked, greenish-yellow enamel with tatters of decayed gum flesh still clinging to it. He dumped the fangs next to where his broomstick leaned against the wall, and then turned to face Hermione, brushing himself off and clearing his throat a little nervously. She looked at him expectantly, as did Harry (who had decided to just think of him as Ron again- it was too confusing to think of him as Other Ron when he could only see one of them).

_Is he going to tell her now? Just like that? By the way, 'Mione, before we return to saving Hogwarts I just wanted to __let you know I'm gay, now let's go kick some Death Eater arse?_

Ron looked at Hermione, took a deep, resolute breath and said "I have to tell you something."

She took a step towards him. "What is it, Ron?" She looked eager, somehow, and a little unsure. Harry felt a sudden pang of sympathy: she was one of his dearest friends, after all, and she was about to be disappointed. Watching Ron kiss her had literally brought him to his knees. He hoped that whatever she was about to hear would be easier to take.

Ron cleared his throat again. He looked at a loss for words now that the moment had come, then blurted out, "We have to get the house-elves out of here, so they'll be safe. We- we can't order them to die for us, can we?"

"What the fuck?!" exclaimed Harry in outrage as Hermione flung herself at Ron. But Ron was ready for her this time, and with the kind of move that had finally made him a Keeper to be reckoned with, he caught her at arms' length and turned the embrace into a clumsy hug. Harry felt a huge wave of relief. Ron was holding Hermione so firmly that she couldn't actually get her face near his, half-buried as it was in her hair.

"Oh, Ron!" she squeaked ecstatically, trying to turn her head.

Ron hugged her tighter, and said, "And I like boys."

"You- what did you say?" Hermione stilled her head and released her grip, and Ron slackened his hold so that they could look at each other.

"The house-elves, we need to-" Ron's words failed in his mouth at the strength of her glare. Professor McGonagall would have been proud.

"I like boys," he quietly repeated. Hermione looked at him for a long moment, scrutinizing the emotions that flickered across his face, and slowly nodded. She had been his friend long enough to know that on a subject of this sensitivity, those three words were the most elaborate explanation she was going to get for now. Deliberately, almost carefully, she hugged him again and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Are you okay with- with it?" he asked, relief and disbelief mingling in his tone.

"Oh Ron, of course I am!" she replied, releasing him and turning away as though to start picking up the fangs. "I think it's great. I've thought it, actually, for quite a while. I mean, it's quite obvious, isn't it, and I am the brightest witch of my age, after all." She sounded just the right mix of airy, casual, and smug; but Harry could see her face.

"Really? Wicked!" grinned Ron, who couldn't. "I _knew_ you'd be alright about it." The relief with which he said this didn't make it sound like he had known that at all, but Hermione let it go. She donned her Expression of Extreme Efficiency and turned back to Ron.

"So, the Cup?" she said.

"Being gay doesn't change how I feel about Quidditch- oh, _that_ Cup," said Ron, actually blushing a bit and digging the golden chalice out of his pocket. He set it on the stone floor of the corridor. They all looked at it. Harry thought (not for the first time) that if he had been a Dark Lord hell-bent on world domination, war, and chaos, prepared to rip his very soul to shreds and hide those shreds to avoid death, he would have chosen as a receptacle something a bit more impressive than a small cup with badgers on it.

"Oh, right. Hermione, you should destroy this one," said Ron, like an actor suddenly remembering his lines.

She nodded vigorously without glancing at him, and Harry thought she really looked like smashing something to pieces might make her feel better. Ron watched her pick up a single fang, and as she straightened and turned he said, "I do- you know- you're really- I-"

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," she snapped with false brightness, and then relented at the hurt expression that flashed across his face.

"The cup!" yelled Harry suddenly, forgetting that they could neither hear nor see him. It was slowly filling from the bottom, welling up with a dark, thick liquid that looked like blood.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized. Ron looked at her with a rare expression of utter seriousness.

"I do love you, Hermione. I love you like a sister, and I hope whatever happens-"

"Look at the frigging cup!" Harry shouted uselessly. He could see a pair of all-too-familiar brown eyes glinting on the surface of the liquid, as though reflected.

"I love you too, Ron. And I'll try to love you like a brother-"

"Very bad things are going to happen if you don't stab the cup!"

"I never meant to hurt you, Hermione. That's why I had to tell you now-"

"Merlin's balls, will you two shut up and destroy it?"

"Oh, Ron-" Her eyes were glinting with tears.

"Oh, shit!" Ron had finally noticed what was happening to the Horcrux. "I forgot- you have to stab it right away, before-"

Two waving, pale figures ballooned suddenly and hideously up between them, ankles tapering together into Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup. Ron's mouth dropped open as he regarded the Voldemort versions of Harry and himself, red eyes glaring, sneering at Hermione as they loomed towards her.

"You're useless when we don't need you to do our homework, why don't you go away?" taunted the Voldemort-Harry. "You're so annoying with your know-it-all attitude. I'm the Boy Who Lived, do you really think I need some prattling bookworm to back me up?"

"Yeah, sod off," agreed Voldemort-Ron, gazing at a picture of Neville Longbottom that he had produced from a pocket. "We know you're frigid anyway." His red eyes fixed on her. "Viktor Krum couldn't do it for you, could he? Big macho Quidditch pro, all the girls said he was sex on a broomstick, logic says he should have made you wet-"

"_Shut up!_" screamed Hermione, raising the fang two-handed and plunging it down through the swaying figures. They dissolved before it without resistance, and her impetus brought Hermione to her knees. The cup cracked and buckled as the deadly tip plummeted into it, the liquid oozing out and then splattering as Hermione raised the fang and brought it down again and again. "Shut up! Shut up! I hate you! You lie! You lying, stupid, worthless, _arse_! Seven years of your _shit_-" Blood sprayed her contorted face and flying hair. All trace of her usual control had vanished as she stabbed the cup over and over, and with each stab a word spat from between her bared teeth. "You-made-me-live-in-fear. You-made-me-fail-exams. _You_-broke-up-my-family. _You_-broke-up-my-sex-drive! _Now-will-you- just-FUCK-OFF!"_

The cup was a mangled, twisted wreck. The basilisk fang had actually cracked. Hermione sat back on her heels, breathed in deeply, and gave a great sigh of relief.

Ron still had his mouth open. Harry wanted to close it for him.

"That's better," said Hermione, as though she'd just relabeled one of their old star charts. She drew her wand, pointed at herself and said "_Scourgio_."

"Brilliant, but really, really fucking scary sometimes," Ron said quietly.

Harry found himself nodding in agreement, then jerked in shock as he felt a firm grip on his elbows and plunged backwards, out of the memory, out of the Pensieve, and into Ron's arms.

"What did you see? How much?" demanded Ron in a low growl, spinning Harry to face him. "What's the last thing you saw?"

He looked utterly furious.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

"What did you see? How much?" demanded Ron in a low growl, spinning Harry to face him. "What's the last thing you saw?"

He looked utterly furious.

"Her- Hermione, breaking the cup!" stuttered Harry. Ron was holding him by the upper arms and their faces were a hand's-breadth apart. There was silence for a moment as they searched one another's eyes.

"Why the bloody hell did you look at that memory?" Ron still looked worried and confused, but less angry. Harry's eyes went to the small glass bottle that had started his bizarre journey of discovery, standing now on a packing crate that they'd never got round to taking away.

Regulus's room had become a sort of disused museum of a time they still didn't discuss much. Mrs. Weasley had sent over most of the contents of Ron's old room, and Hermione had added some crates from her parents' house. Items of furniture unwanted elsewhere in Number 12 had found their way there too, and even some of Remus Lupin's possessions that he'd left to Harry until such time as Teddy was old enough for them, including the Pensieve. Their Hogwarts trunks were in one corner, Ron's and Harry's mostly untouched, Hermione's neatly repacked with items she rarely used and adorned with a neat inventory of contents.

Her need to organize and categorize things, always strong, had bordered on the obsessive-compulsive for a while after they had all moved into Grimmauld Place. Her room was exceeding levels of tidiness that Petunia Dursley had only dreamed of, and still she continuously rearranged it. "I just need to be able to put my hands on what I need, whenever I might need it, as quickly as possible," Hermione had said in the same way that she might have explained that she needed lungs in order to breathe. She had attempted to extend this process to the rest of the house, but fortunately the cheerful chaos of Ron and various visiting brothers, and Harry's now habitual absentmindedness, thwarted her. Hermione didn't accept defeat lightly and started leaving notes everywhere, reminding them to _please_ keep things in their proper places.

Harry, more concerned with rebuilding his internal world that turning his external one into a filing system, had mostly let it pass him by. Ron on the other hand had found her exhortations of order both amusing and irritating. However he had realized that it was Hermione's way of working through everything that had happened to her, and therefore tolerated it with badly concealed public amusement and occasional private grumbling, as he explained to Harry one night.

They had been sitting in the kitchen. Hermione was out at a meeting of her Post Voldemort Stress Disorder Survivor's Group. Harry was nursing his third, or possibly fifth, shot of firewhisky and Ron was writing on small scraps of parchment with an air of industrious contentment. Once each one bore a word or string of initials Ron flicked his wand, to send the scrap soaring around the kitchen, then adhering to an object or surface. His own, second, glass of firewhisky stood mostly empty on the battered wooden kitchen table.

"She's been on at me for ages to organize," said Ron. "And y'know what? She was right. It really _is_ "quite fun" once you start doing it." He took a swallow of firewhisky and looked around, grinning. Harry sloshed more into their glasses, drank too and followed his friend's gaze.

Nearly every object in the kitchen now bore a label. Many of them were obvious nomenclature: 'chair' on all the chairs, 'table' on the table, 'cupboard' on the cupboard, 'other cupboard' on the other cupboard, and so on. These were neatly lettered and Harry guessed they were the first ones Ron had made. The initialed labels, however, became trickier to interpret: he worked out 'R.F.M.' on Ron's favorite mug quite easily, then 'T.J.O.F.P.' on the jar of Floo Powder and 'T.B.B.' on the bread bin. 'A.T.K.F.A.S.' on the cutlery drawer gave him trouble for a minute, until he heard Ron muttering "all...the...other...eating...stuff..." as he lettered 'A.T.O.E.S.' on another scrap of parchment and flicked it towards the other kitchen drawer.

'W.A.T.B.A.B.A.S.G.' on the closet door left him completely stumped and he turned his attention back to Ron, who was looking smug and finishing another label. "This one's for you, mate," he chuckled, and drained his glass of firewhisky. Ron picked up his wand in preparation, then frowning put it down and picked up his quill again, adding a few more letters. "That's more like it," he said. Harry raised his eyebrows at his friend, then looked down to see the small piece of parchment now attached to his shirt. 'T.B.W.L.W.M.', he read, with underneath in smaller letters 'A.I.F.B.'

"It was going to be The Boy Who Lived," explained Ron, "but you're much more than that." He poured more whisky in their glasses and his ears tinged pink. "So I made it The Boy Who Lives With Me And Is Fucking Brilliant." It might have been intended as a joke but neither of them laughed.

Harry rolled another mouthful of firewhisky over his tongue, savoring the bite and burn and trying not to stare at Ron, who looked like fire and whisky himself in the glow from the grate: red-gold and amber, warmth with an edge to it. He had felt Ron's gaze shift away from him after what seemed like an hour, and wondered why his best friend's comment had left him strangely speechless.

Harry had gone to bed soon after and slept restlessly until he was awoken by a banshee-like shriek of "_Ronald Weasley!_ This is in _no_ way amusing!" He thought for a moment that Molly had popped round, before realizing Hermione must have come home and discovered the fruits of Ron's organizational binge.

"Harry?" said Ron, probably not for the first time, and Harry suddenly found that he was still silently staring at the small bottle. He reached over and picked it up. Ron released his arms, but Harry didn't step away from him.

"I thought it was about Hedwig," he said slowly.

"Why the bloody hell-" Ron began, but Harry interrupted "_Lumos_," and held up the bottle in the hand that wasn't glowing, tilting it so they could both see the label.

"I read it as HEDWIG. What on earth does H.I.D.W.I.T.G. stand for?"

"I.T.W. You missed that, look, underneath, the letters are tiny... You do know you're doing wandless magic, don't you?"

Harry sighed and nodded, as though Ron were pointing out that Harry's hair was untidy.

"Um... How I Didn't Want It To Go In The War." Ron turned away and the last of the tension seemed to leave him, dissolved by the realization that Harry had not been intentionally prying through one of his more intimate memories.

Harry heard the clink of glass and the soft sound of a cork being drawn from a bottle, and then Ron stepped over to a mattress that had been folded in half, tied, and propped against a heavy wardrobe. Hands occupied with glasses and bottle, he kicked at it until it flopped over onto the floor. Harry got the idea and moved to help him push the mattress over to the wall whilst musing over the thought that Ron had come looking for him, with two glasses and a bottle of firewhisky.

They both sank down onto it. Ron passed Harry one of the glasses and poured them both a substantial shot. There was a comfortable, contemplative silence as they drank. Harry leaned his head against Ron's shoulder and let out a deep breath, as though they'd just finished a long and complicated conversation instead of being about to have one.

"So, when did you know?" he asked Ron after a moment.

Ron watched his own foot nudge up against Harry's and replied, "There were a couple of moments, really. Obviously, the- what you just saw. Kissing Hermione just didn't... It wasn't..." He stopped, and Harry felt his shrug. Rather than dislodging Harry's head, it somehow brought them closer together. Ron took a drink and continued, "And seeing Neville coming out of the portrait in the pub, every inch the revolutionary hero."

There was an amused affection in the way he said this that even Harry couldn't fail to notice. He lifted his head from Ron's shoulder, took a gulp of whisky and welcomed the burn.

"You and Neville?" he said; and he meant to say it lightly, but the words came out shaded with something almost bitter.

"Yeah, me and Neville," said Ron and now Harry could hear that rare smile in his friend's voice, but Ron tilted his own head so that it rested on Harry's shoulder.

"Just for a couple of months, after- afterwards, you know. Nev joked it was an aftermath romance instead of a holiday romance." Harry couldn't help but smile. There was no hint of longing or regret in Ron's voice.

"We kept it quiet because we both knew it was never going to be serious. No point getting his gran's hopes up that Nev was finally going to settle down, and you know what Mum's like. But it was a hell of a lot of fun, and it- it taught me a lot, you know?"

Harry sniggered and Ron jabbed him gently, repeatedly, in the ribs. Harry, horribly ticklish, wriggled against Ron's side until they were in danger of spilling firewhiskey everywhere.

"No, listen!" exclaimed Ron, hooking his arm around Harry's shoulders to keep him still. "Girls confuse me sometimes-"

"Yeah, I know the face," interjected Harry. He drained his glass and leaned across Ron's lap to reach the bottle. Ron's arm somehow came with him.

_Ron is holding me face down across his lap! _thought Harry suddenly as something like a tidal wave of desire crashed over him. He watched his own fingers (still glowing with faint light) close around the long neck of the bottle. _Oh great, now I have to try sitting up without him seeing how hard I am._

"What face?" said Ron, who was acting as though having Harry sprawled across his lap on a mattress in a darkened room was the most natural thing in the wizarding world. _Nev must be one hell of a teacher,_ thought Harry.

"There's a face, a very specificic face, you pull when you're being confused by girls," he explained. Still unwilling to sit up, and because Ron didn't seem to mind him being there, Harry put his glass on the floor next to the firewhiskey bottle and rolled over so that his head and shoulders were resting on Ron's thighs. Thankful for the large, heavy hoody he was wearing, he put his hands in the pockets and pushed it down to cover the tops of his thighs.

"You just said specificic," giggled Ron. "Anyway, they do, girls confuse me. Sometimes. Even our Ginny. And trying to be a girl's boyfriend, bloody hell..."

Ron finished his own drink and placed the glass next to Harry's. As he sat back, one of his hands ended up playing with the tips of Harry's hair.

"But blokes- it's a different story. It's like, you might not agree on everything, but at least most of the time you're looking at things from the same perspective."

His fingertips had found the curve of Harry's ear, and as they traced it Harry felt his spine shiver and flashes of heat ignite in his belly and thighs, sending pulsing insistent urges to his cock. His entire focus had narrowed to the tiny points of contact between Ron's skin and his, and he had to fight back a gasp at the idea of what Ron's whole hand, his body, his _tongue_ might feel like. His hands in his hoody pockets might be covering what felt like the biggest hard-on he'd ever had, but it was difficult to refrain from stroking it.

"So, you and Neville now?"

"Just friends. He's seeing one of the England Quidditch Team," said Ron, and his fingers drifted to Harry's neck, just below his earlobe.

"And you and Hermione?" Harry arched slightly into Ron's touch.

"Just friends," Ron said with a laugh.

"And you and-"

"Just friends, Harry, I am currently just friends with everyone I know." Ron looked down at him with mock exasperation, but didn't stop caressing his neck.

"I was going to say you and me," said Harry, opening his big green eyes wide and gazing at Ron, who actually grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, mate, that all depends, doesn't it?"


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

Harry felt dry-mouthed and rock-hard. Ron's eyes were shining in the dim glow from Harry's hand and the faint starlight struggling through the dirty window; and his voice held what sounded like a dare and a promise, there in the firewhisky-scented dark.

"When did _you_ know?"

Harry thought of all the possible replies: the self-denials and retellings and exaggerations that could come so easily. _But this is Ron. And I- I might love him. I definitely fancy the arse off him. _

"About half an hour ago," he admitted.

Ron's thighs trembled under Harry's shoulders and head, and he realized his friend was stifling laughter. After a moment Ron let out a fake cough and said, "In the Pensieve?"

"In the Pensieve," confirmed Harry. "When- when Hermione kissed you."

The fingers that had been stroking Harry's neck were suddenly removed as Ron had to put both hands over his own mouth, which was as effective as laughing out loud anyway.

"What?" demanded Harry, rolling over to grab the bottle and again fill their glasses. "This is my coming out speech, you git, stop sniggering."

He wriggled forward a little to make the pouring easier, bringing his stomach onto Ron's legs, and almost ground his erection into the side of his friend's thigh before he checked the movement. Just as he was congratulating himself on both not spilling the firewhisky and not inadvertently humping his best mate's leg, Ron's hands descended onto Harry's back.

Harry gave a muffled squeak. He managed to set the bottle upright on the floor and then felt himself melting as long, strong fingers began to massage his lower back. It was a little awkward because of the angle, but nevertheless Harry felt a delicious, soothing warmth start to spread through him. Knots in his muscles that he hadn't known were there started to soften and untie_. Oh, please let me spend the rest of forever drinking firewhisky and being massaged by Ron, alone in the dark together._

"You're very tense here," said Ron seductively after a couple of minutes, as his hands moved lower.

It was Harry's turn to splutter with laughter. "I'm also not a girl, Ron. I thought that was the whole point."

Ron gave a wry, self deprecating chuckle. "Yeah, sorry mate, that was pretty crap." His hands continued their work though, kneading now at either side of the base of Harry's spine.

"Why were you laughing, anyway?" Harry enquired, trying to distract himself from how the warm feeling was turning from soothing into arousing with every further movement of Ron's hands. Harry's cock, which had relaxed a little along with the rest of him, was hard as a rock again.

"Just thought it was funny. We both realized at the same time, only it took you about a year longer." Ron removed one of his hands to pick up his glass, but the other stayed around the top of Harry's jeans, stroking in slow lazy circles that made Harry want to stretch and, frankly, purr. Ron clinked his glass gently against Harry's and drank.

Harry pushed himself back and up onto his knees, so that when Ron lowered his now half empty glass and looked at him quizzically, their faces were very close together. Ron opened his mouth to say something and Harry leaned in and kissed him.

Ron's mouth was sublime, warm and spiced with firewhisky, both welcoming and hungry. _Brilliant_, thought Harry, and tentatively swept his tongue across Ron's. Dimly he heard a glass hit the floor with a dull thunk as both Ron's arms encircled him, and he found himself being kissed in earnest. One of his hands fumbled up Ron's back to cup the back of his best friend's head, and the other caressed Ron's chest without Harry really being aware of what he was doing. His cock was aching, his skin yearning for further contact; it seemed only natural for him to throw one leg over Ron's thighs and straddle him. Their mouths came apart and Ron bent his head to kiss Harry's neck. Harry moaned. Ron giggled softly between kisses. Harry's fingertips found Ron's right nipple through his shirt, and remembering what he'd seen in the Chamber of Secrets, he gave it a firm pinch and twist. Ron gasped loudly and thrust upwards, the movement impeded by Harry, who felt a rush of excitement and a strange thrill of power- not evil (and Merlin knew Harry could tell the difference) but the power of igniting Ron's arousal; seeing his best friend writhe and keen under his touch. It was a very new emotion to him.

Harry sat back a little and picked up his drink, sipping this one more slowly than any other he'd had tonight, regarding Ron over the rim of the glass.

"Where did you get a Time Turner, anyway?"

Ron rested his hands on Harry's thighs, and began massaging in small circles with his thumbs. Glancing down, Harry saw that Ron was obviously, encouragingly, and quite massively hard under his jeans. Having noticed this, he could barely tear his eyes away.

"My dad brought it home from work for me?"

Harry's gaze returned to Ron's face, which was wearing the dead giveaway 'Are You Going To Fall For This?' expression.

"Professor McGonagall, bless her tartan socks, had to go through all kinds of stuff to get hold of one for Hermione; and that was for school. You don't really expect me to believe you just asked your dad and he got you one, do you? It's not like it's a box of paperclips," said Harry. He leaned in and kissed Ron again; and the thought that he could, if he wished, kiss Ron, was almost as good as the deed.

"What- what are paperclips?" gasped Ron after a while, when Harry decided it was time to sit back and observe how very horny Ron looked when he'd been thoroughly kissed.

"It's a Muggle thing. Time Turner?" Harry reminded him.

"Right," said Ron, and took the refilled glass of firewhisky Harry handed him. "Do you remember that time in the Ministry, when- when I went a bit funny?"

Harry felt the familiar prickle of grief. He breathed in and out, and was able this time to let it slide away quickly.

"Do you mean what Hermione affectionately calls the Accio Brain Incident?" he said, and the sound of Ron laughing made him tingle. Ron's fingers were drawing complex patterns on Harry's thighs, celtic knots of slow, irresistable arousal.

"Yeah, that. I must have picked one up at some point in the confusion; shiny objects were very important to me in the state I was in." He drank a little. "I guess I shoved it in my pocket, totally forgot about it, and the clothes I was wearing then came home with me in a bag. I threw it in the bottom of my wardrobe- come here, you're too far away-" This last was said as Ron suddenly pulled Harry closer to him with one long, strong arm. Harry's hands went to Ron's waist automatically, bringing them snugly together. _This feels more right than anything I've done since walking off to die_, Harry thought fleetingly before Ron kissed him again and all thought was lost for a little while.

Harry was straddling Ron's hips and the hardness that was straining Ron's jeans was pressing up into his arse. Harry wanted to grind down onto it, but he also wanted to hear the rest of Ron's explanation. He settled for wriggling a little as though to get comfortable, and the way Ron's face reflected his own desire gave him that thrill of power again.

"You threw the bag in the bottom of your wardrobe...?" he prompted Ron, who was now cupping Harry's arse with both hands.

"Wha- Oh, yeah, I did..." Ron mumbled into Harry's neck. His breath was warm, the tongue that followed in its wake warmer. Harry tipped his head back and gasped as his cock grew yet harder against Ron's belly. He felt Ron smile against his neck, felt an answering smile spread across his own face in the warm darkness.

Ron leaned back and gazed approvingly at the wanton expression on his best friend's face. Slowly he moved his hands from Harry's arse, sliding them up his back a little way and then around to the front, where for a ticklish moment they skated across his belly before settling warmly over his ribs. Harry's hoody rode up over Ron's wrists, and he glanced down to see the black denim bulge of his own erection revealed and undeniable against the pale skin of his stomach.

Ron began stroking his thumbs back and forth just underneath Harry's nipples, and absently said "And I forgot about it."

"Huh?" Harry had completely forgotten what they were talking about. All he could think presently was, _Is he going to touch my nipples? Is he going to twist them? It looks like it hurts, but he liked it. __**I**__ might like it. I __**want**__ to like it. If he doesn't touch them, I'm going to explode soon. If he does... I'll probably explode straight away._

"I forgot all about it, and the jeans stayed in the bottom of my wardrobe," Ron explained. "Until Hermione went rooting about in my room, looking for clothes I wouldn't miss so she could put them in that charmed bag she had." His thumbs moved fractionally higher, and Harry felt as though every nerve ending he had had relocated to his nipples, begging for touch.

"I remember those- aah... -those jeans," he half gasped. "They were extremely tight..."

Ron grinned. "It's much smaller than the one Hermione had, it's probably only good for going back a couple of hours or so. I guess it must have been wedged right into the corner of the pocket, because it didn't turn up until Shell Cottage. Bill lent me some clothes and I found it while I was getting changed." His tone was matter of fact, but his eyes were burning, and watching Harry for every tiny response to his touches and strokes.

His thumbs had skirted around Harry's nipples and up to his collarbone, then trailed downwards and around beneath his nipples again, the movement repeated and straying ever closer to the sensitive, hardened nubs. Harry squirmed, not even trying to disguise the movement now; half-formed fantastic thoughts swirled through his head, all of them centered around the mingled dread and excitement of everything he wanted Ron to do to him.

"So you decided that kissing Hermione-"

"Wasn't nearly as good as this," said Ron, dipping his head to nuzzle and lick at Harry's neck again. Harry's hands, without conscious instruction, had traveled up Ron's sides and were exploring the compelling curve where his ribs met his belly. Ron bit down gently on Harry's neck and finally, finally ran his thumbs over Harry's nipples. Harry gasped and it was a good minute before he could continue,

"And you, _oh_, that is so _good_- you went back- _oh_-"

"So I could tell her on our own, when I'd had at least a minute to think about it and realize that girls really weren't doing it for me-"

"Like this is?" Harry wriggled back a little and his fingers, emboldened by the heady rush of lust Ron's thumbs on his nipples had released, found their way to the prominent hardness of Ron's cock and began to stroke it through the taut denim.

"Oh, Merlin, like this is," gasped Ron. His pretended detachment had disintegrated at Harry's touch, his eyes closed and he bucked upwards once again. Harry tightened his thighs around his friend and gasped at the effect Ron's expression had on him- the way Ron surrendered to the arousal Harry kindled in him, the way that surrender demanded _more_. Ron's thumbs and forefingers suddenly grasped Harry's nipples and squeezed, and it was Harry's turn to arch backwards in supplication as a torrent of lust flooded him. He moaned and ground his cock against Ron's, the fabric between them providing an almost painfully delicious friction.

Ron, panting, dropped his hands from Harry's nipples to the top button of his jeans but as he fumbled it open, he raised his eyes to Harry's face and caught something in the expression there that made him stop. A half-grin tugged at his gently swollen lips, and he moved his hands back to Harry's waist. Harry breathed deeply, and made an attempt at nonchalantly picking up his glass and drinking (spoiled only by his hand shaking slightly, and the size of the two gulps he took).

"So, Hermione destroyed the badgery cup of doom, and we went back upstairs to find you, and not kiss. Much better." Ron also reached for his glass, clinked it against Harry's again, and drank.

Harry watched the sudden beauty in the angles of Ron's neck as he swallowed. _He realized this was going a bit too fast for me. He knows me that well._ A wave of appreciation and warmth surged through him. _I could love this man. _

_Ah, c'mon. I __**already**__ love this man._

"We should get back to the party," said Harry with no sincerity whatsoever, snuggling up against Ron again. "Has the guest of honor finally turned up?"

"No," replied Ron, putting his glass down and encircling Harry's waist with both arms. "He stuck his head out of the fire about half an hour ago to tell us he's been delayed but he's on his way. Mum wasn't best pleased, but it has been ages and you know what she's oh fuck Harry oh _yes_ oh _fuck_-"

Harry, having just experienced a little of how good it could feel, had worked his hands beneath Ron's shirt and slowly begun squeezing and gently pinching his friend's nipples. Ron made a sound between a moan and a growl which Harry decided was the most arousing thing he'd ever heard.

"You didn't change anything else, then?" Harry said casually, more for the sake of teasing Ron by mocking his earlier detached tone, than anything else. He released the pressure and savored Ron's gasp.

"No, why would I?" replied Ron, staring directly into Harry's green eyes. He was panting and pink around the ears. "Do that again."

"What, this?"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaah... _fuck_..."

"Or this?"

"Oh! Ooohhhhhhh... oh... yes... Harry..."

"_Harry?!_"

They had been oblivious to everything, including two sets of feet coming up the stairs.

"_Fred?_" Harry, disoriented by this sudden interruption, looked up in confusion at the familiar ginger head poking around the door.

"Of course not," exclaimed George, taking in their debauched disarray.

"_I'm_ Fred- bloody hell!" Fred exclaimed as his head appeared around the door too. "Can't a bloke go off to Bolivia for three months to grow an extra organ-"

"'Ere, 'ere!" interjected George, pointing to his magically attached new ear.

"-without his little brother stirring the Cauldron of Wizardly Luuuuuuurve-"

"I hear the sound of romance! _In stereo_!" George capered about with his hands behind both ears, obviously delighted.

"-with The Boy Who Lived? Harry, does that mean you're now The Boy Who Luuuuuuurved?" Fred was grinning broadly and rubbing his thighs.

"The Boy Who Lived To Luuuuuuuurve," proclaimed George, copying his twin.

Ron gave up trying to look annoyed and burst out laughing. Harry seemed to be having a fit of the giggles, and rested his head on Ron's shoulder. He felt better than he had in weeks. He didn't even care that the bottle of firewhisky was empty, and the urge to find another one seemed less compelling than the urge to find a proper bed and coax that growling moan out of Ron, over and over and over again.

"Fred, it's brilliant to see you. I'm really glad you're back," Ron said happily. "George, the ear looks even better than the old one. Now, both of you, shut it." He kissed Harry, briefly but firmly.

The twins grumbled good-naturedly and started back down the stairs.

"Are you coming?" yelled one of them.

"Or are you going to join us downstairs?" called the other.

TEH END.

A/N- Why yes, this entire story _did_ grow from an overwhelming need to find a plausible (?!) way of bringing back Fred. Harry and Ron getting it on, and George regaining an ear, were simply happy coincidences of plot.


End file.
